


Blood-letting

by yellow_eyed_darling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Past Abuse, Self Harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_eyed_darling/pseuds/yellow_eyed_darling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Um, this is just a short drabble, I don't know how I feel about it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Blood-letting

**Author's Note:**

> Um, this is just a short drabble, I don't know how I feel about it.

As he gazed around the empty hotel parking lot, Dean could admit it; Things had been bad for a while. He sucked in a breath and let the cigarette smoke fill his lungs, and exhaled; with all the hazards of the job he wasn’t too anxious about cancer, hell he wasn’t even distressed by the job any more, he had lost the last dim ray of hope that he had left. He was once again left feeling ill-fated, and forlorn. He shakily took another puff from his cigarette before letting it slip from between his fingers and fall to the ground, stamping out the ember with the toe of his scuffed boot. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the motels’ door with shaking hands; crossing the threshold he called out “Rise and shine Sammy! I got us breakfast.” Dumping the impalas’ keys on the table by the door, he pushed the door closed with his foot and strode across the room to dump a plastic bag full of food on the small kitchenette’s bench. Glancing back at Sam’s slumbering form, Dean let out a chuckle and placed the salad, and burger he purchased for Sam in the fridge. He threw the plastic bag and his burger wrapper in the bin, scratching his toned stomach at the memory of the burger. He’d have to grab another before they left. 

With Sam out like a light, Dean felt his mind drift of its own accord. He absently scratched at his upper thigh, feeling the scabbed wounds through the worn denim of his jeans, it wasn’t rational, not in the slightest; but he felt himself longing for the feel of a blade embedded in his thigh. The pain, it was different from the usual wear and tear they dealt with during jobs, it was about control and release. Dean had already had these thoughts before; nothing eased the urge, not sex, alcohol, or drugs. Nothing smothered the self-hatred he had bubbling under his skin like a festering wound faster than a quick slash at his skin. He tried rationalising it with the fact that people had done it for centuries under different guises; blood-letting was the most common descriptions. Dean remembered reading about it in one of his high-school classes he’d actually bothered to attend, the idea had sat in his brain for decades, and when in Hell the desire to take up the habit rather than torture another soul was tempting, but the thought of Alistair seeing the wounds, having another piece of ammunition aimed against him, made him refrain and keep those thoughts lock up tight.

Shaking himself from his thoughts he went for one of their many first-aid kits, crossing the room he took a knife from his bag - it’s blade kept sharp, and closed the bathroom door, sliding to the floor he unbuckled his jeans and pulled them to his knees and lifting his boxers he contemplated where to start, the thick white scars standing out from his tanned skin; physical proof of his failures, of the mistakes that stain him. Dean sucked in a breathe and exhaled he grasped the knife tighter and let the blade bite into his skin, it opened like a rose to the morning sun; bubbles of fat peaking from beneath a thin layer of membrane. Gritting his teeth he pulled the blade once more across his thigh attacking the already bleeding wound, blood flowed freely from the cut, its red hue easing some of the anxiety that had been writhing inside of him demanding attention. Satisfied Dean precariously struggled to his feet and cleaned the knife. He sighed upon viewing the mess he’d made, though it was no worse than usual. He took a wash cloth and cleaned his wound, ignoring the need for stitches he pressed gauze over the wound finding a certain irony at the different in pain, how this could possibly hurt more than the act of self-harm would remain a mystery to him, and bandaged his thigh, checking that it was secure. Using that same cloth, it was already covered in blood why dirty another, he lazily wiped up the mess. Feeling more relaxed than ever he left the bathroom – cleaner than before, he’d rather not leave any evidence for his brother to find; Sam had been messed up enough after getting his soul back and the idea of leaving more weight to his already burdened shoulders was unthinkable.

His brother still slumbered on, his face twitching, Dean thought of waking him, but he so rarely gets sleep even if it is filled with nightmares. Letting out a brief sigh he moved towards the second bed and collapsed upon it, it’d been a long morning and his brief sleep earlier was not restful.


End file.
